


Blue Balls

by Cards_Slash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M, Mpreg, Shotgun Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started because Dean told Cas something that wasn’t...entirely...true--who knew it would end so crazy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Balls

**Author's Note:**

> repost from LJ (2010), originally written for a friend.

John didn’t exactly get propositioned a lot. In fact, during the course of an average year between taking the boys with him everywhere, dressed in nothing but what he’d stolen from Good Will, either beat to shit or recovering from beat to shit, lying to everyone he met and forgetting to shave for days and days he received maybe three and a half propositions from anyone. Mostly, a bored hooker, a perverted demon, a tragic old maid and some drunk guy at the bar that was into gruff looking father figures. (The drunk guy usually passed out so John only counted it as half a proposition.)

So he was out of practice at how to handle people asking him for sex.

Or maybe he was just out of practice at people actually just flat out asking him for sex. 

And by people he meant the man standing in front of him, blocking his way to the Impala. The guy with the trench coat and the white shirt and the deeply sincere look on his face as he waited patiently with his arms just hanging at his sides. He stood there like he wasn’t at all bothered that John was covered in a spray of blood from the demon he just killed or that it was three in the morning in the middle of nowhere and John knew for a fact that there had been a hell of a lot of screaming and begging and pleading happening about fifteen minutes ago because he’d been torturing the demon. No, the man looked completely at peace and completely sincere as he stood there.

“What?” John said at last, and then perhaps more importantly, “what are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord,” the man said, “and I believe we should have sex.”

This was just not how John’s life went. Demons wanted to gut him or his sons. Ghosts and ghouls and other evil things wanted to kill him before he killed them. And everyone else either stayed away from him or accepted it when he lied to them--except that one teacher that Sam had in second grade who actually seemed to actively hate him and kept telling him the importance of hugs to a child’s development--but angels of the Lord did not show up and want sex. He tried to come up with something intelligent to say, or do and in the end he just went with his gut impulse and splashed the man with a face-full of holy water.

The angel of the Lord closed his eyes for a brief second and then opened them again and cleared his throat, shifted on his feet and said: “I am not a demon, John.”

Oh, and the angel knew his name. “Yeah? What are you?”

“I am an angel of the--”

“Bullshit,” John said. Because angels did not proposition people for sex. (At least, no angel he had ever heard of.) He pulled his gun and pointed it at the man and watched how he didn’t seem impressed or even surprised by this turn of events. It was more like he was just short of sighing a ‘well this figures’ and there was still holy water dripping from his chin. “What are you really?”

“I am Castiel,” the man said.

“ _What_?” John demanded.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel said again.

John shot him. It was just a shoulder hit so it wasn’t like it would kill him but if were anything that wasn’t friendly with silver it would hurt him and that would make it easier to figure out how to actually kill him. The impact of the bullet knocked the man back against the Impala and he grunted before righting himself and looking down at his shoulder with a frown and then back at him. 

That? That was a little disconcerting. 

“Your weapons cannot kill me, John,” Castiel said.

“Oh I’m sure I’ve got something that’ll kill you.” The key was to just keep trying.

Castiel blinked at him. “I believe we should have sex.” He said it as if he were certain that they had only gotten off topic and if he could get them back to the important part of the discussion they would be able move on. (And presumably, have _sex_ , never mind that John was not gay and he damn sure wasn’t getting naked with a man who barely bled and didn’t seem to care about the bullet lodged in his shoulder.) “I have heard from a reliable source that when a man does not have the opportunity to ejaculate frequently he gets backed up.”

What?

“This could cause him to die.”

_What_?

“It also appears to make men unhappy.”

“What?” John demanded.

“I assure you that I am proficient with several sex acts.”

“You’re an angel,” he said because he felt that it needed said and if he didn’t say it he might just shoot the man in the face because the whole situation was one degree removed from too absurd to be true. “Who believes that if a man doesn’t...have sex he’ll die.”

“Might die,” Castiel corrected.

“Who the hell told you that?” John asked. (Even if it was completely irrelevant to anything because here he was with demon blood drying on his face, a nasty cut slashing down one of his arms, holding a gun to an angel of the Lord discussing myths that asshole dickheads told their girlfriends just to get laid.) 

Castiel looked almost nervous for one second and then shifted on his feet and said, “my boyfriend. We have an open relationship.”

Oh. Good. The gullible angel had an open relationship with his boyfriend. “Your boyfriend’s a dick,” John said, “and we’re not having sex. And you need to leave before I shoot you again.”

“Its very important that we have sex,” Castiel said, “I cannot leave until we do.”

And that was how John ended up with his own personal angel.

\--

Castiel sat in the passenger seat of the Impala without a word, staring straight a head with his hands against his lap and his feet flat on the floor.

John turned the music up to deafening and swerved all over the lanes on the highway and nearly killed them twice and Castiel did nothing at all besides look at him strangely out of the corner of his eye. Once he said, “John, I assure you that sex with me is preferable to death.”

John shouldn’t have said a thing but he said: “Did you boyfriend tell you that?”

Castiel considered this and then looked forward again without answering.

\--

At the motel where he was staying halfway between this demon and where he left the boys, he turned on all the lights and ignored the angel standing by the door. There was whiskey on the bedside table and a first aid kit on the bed from the night before when he had to stitch up the cut across his chest. There was a pile of wrappers from fast-food on the little kitchenette and the walls were covered with newspaper clippings and notes and theories about what he had been hunting across the state. 

Castiel took it all in and seemed to approve. He said, “you are very thorough.”

John picked up the whiskey and the first-aid kit and went into the bathroom. He slammed the door and worked his shirt off to see the damage and when he looked up from splashing water on his face Castiel was looking at him in the mirror. “How’d you get in here?”

“I am an angel.”

John closed his eyes and counted to ten and when he opened them Castiel was still standing there so he ignored him while he scrubbed the wound and tried to figure out of it would need stitches or not. He took three drinks--and not four--and then poured the whiskey over the wound with a hiss. 

“Would you like assistance?” Castiel asked.

“No,” John shouted at him.

Castiel didn’t even looked offended, just nodded his head as if he were confirming his suspicions and then waited patiently.

\--

When he woke up the next morning with his hand clenched around his gun, Castiel was sitting at the foot of the bed with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together between his knees. He looked bored. “What do you want?” John asked.

“I want to have sex with you,” Castiel said.

So he went back to ignoring him. 

The clothes from the day before were worthless so he put them in a bag to burn them and put on his last set. There was a thrift store in the next town over that looked like it would have something that would fit him. He considered shaving, rubbed his beard and decided he didn’t want to bother. Castiel watched him dispassionately from the doorway as he brushed his teeth.

“I find your dedication to good oral hygiene attractive,” Castiel said.

John spit into the sink. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said and he _meant_ it.

\--

At the diner, Castiel sat across from him while he ate breakfast and looked at the cup of coffee the waitress had brought him even after he said he didn’t want anything. The cup and the coffee seemed to puzzle him. John ate his ham and eggs and bacon and ignored Castiel and the chatter of the diner all around him because they were all staring at him and the angel of the Lord.

\--

Back in the Impala, Castiel stared out the window for a full a five minutes while John tapped his thumb against the steering wheel and contemplating starting the car and where the hell he’d go after he started it because he damn sure couldn’t take his new stalker and angel friend back to the boys. Even if he seemed as domesticated as a kitten he was still something that wasn’t human and--

“I happen to know from personal experience that the backseat of this car will comfortably fit two adult males for the duration of a satisfactory sexual experience,” Castiel said.

“And how do you know that?” John demanded.

“My boyfriend has this car,” Castiel said.

Of course he did. “Your dick boyfriend?” John asked.

“I only have one boyfriend,” Castiel said.

Right, of course he did. “And your boyfriend is just...ok with you following me around until I give in and have sex with you?”

This seemed to stump Castiel for a minute. He contemplated it with great seriousness and then finally looked back at him. “I believe he would approve of my methods, yes.” Then a pause, “however, he would most likely suggest that I _get you drunk_ in an effort to seduce you. I believe there is a bar--”

“No,” John said.

“I am not a fan of drunken sex,” Castiel said.

The things you learned about angels.

\--

He drove for miles, in circles and bought gas from the same gas station twice before the guy behind the counter asked him if he was lost and what was wrong with his friend. John glared at the guy and left without offering any explanation (even if that just made him look more like a freak than the angel following him around did). He found a different circle to drive until it was dark and he was bored and his arm was starting to ache.

“I believe it would be simpler if you would consent to have sex with me. I would be able to leave and you would be able to return to your sons.”

John grit his teeth until his jaw hurt and said nothing.

\--

The next morning, he woke up in the backseat of the Impala and Castiel was nowhere he could see. For one brief and glorious moment he was sure he had managed to drive him off and then he sat up enough to see the angel sitting on the trunk of the car. 

“Good morning John,” Castiel said.

\--

“My wife used to say angels were watching over us,” John said--because conversation was polite sometimes.

“That is not entirely incorrect,” Castiel assured him.

“So, do you do this often? You angels?”

“I do not understand the question.”

John tipped his head back to rinse the shampoo out of it, felt it soaking into the back of his already soaked undershirt and down into his boxers that weren’t doing that great of a job protecting his modesty after all. Castiel was standing outside of the shower watching him intently offering sideways compliments about how his muscle tone was adequate and his skin color was appealing. “Do you usually stalk people until they agree to fuck?”

“No,” Castiel said, “you are a special case.”

Oh good.

\--

“John,” Castiel said when they were out by the beds in the motel, “you will top. Does that help?”

Oh good, so he got to fuck some angel in the ass because he was a special case. John straightened his jeans, tossed his soaked T-shirt to the side and considered shooting the bastard again just so he would _feel better_. “No.”

“I have been told that my ass is very sexually pleasing,” Castiel informed him, “it is both hot and tight.”

Oh. Jesus. John started thinking shooting himself was the only way to go.

\--

After the third day, he was hungry because he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, he was tired because he couldn’t sleep right with the angel that wanted to jump his bones sitting on his bed and he needed to get back to his sons because they’d been by themselves for nearly a week longer than he’d meant to leave them. 

“You’ll go away if we fuck?” John asked.

“Yes.”

He opened the bottle of bottle water and poured it over the angel’s head as he sat at the table in the kitchenette--not because he really thought Castiel was a demon but just because one could never be too sure. And then he sighed.

“I do not understand why you continue to do that,” Castiel said, “I am not a demon.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Then he frowned and nodded and shifted on his feet, “so--what do we do?”

Castiel seemed relieved, at last, that John had given in to the inevitable.

\--

Cas had been gone for a while. It wasn’t really that unusual for Cas to be gone for a while--in fact it was damn near approaching normal for Cas to be gone for a while without any explanation. It just wasn’t normal for Cas to be gone for a while and not answer his cell phone or show up after he got the message that Dean wanted to see him for non-apocalypse related business. 

Sam gave him a long sideways look and that disapproving shake of his head.

“What?” Dean asked and took another drink of cheap beer as he flipped the phone closed and sat back on the squeaky hotel bed. “What if we really needed him?”

“You don’t really need him,” Sam said, “you’re calling him and leaving him--booty-call messages.”

“Am not,” Dean said. (Yes he was.)

“Why don’t you just go to the bar and find someone?” Sam asked, “isn’t that what you normally do when you can’t get a hold of him?” It was amazing how Sam could make it sound like Dean was a horrible person for cheating on his angel boyfriend on a regular basis and that Dean was an idiot for not going out and getting laid already. 

“I want to give him a chance,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t even attempt to express himself in words, just made that face that he made and then went back to his laptop and the safety of his research where he didn’t have to admit to being related to Dean. Which was fine. Dean took another drink and flipped open his phone again--not because he was checking his messages or anything, just because he wanted to make sure it was on.

\--

After three AM, long after Sam had fallen asleep face down on the bed and Dean had jerked off in the bathroom (twice), the radio that had been playing quietly buzzed out in static and then came back on loud and Cas was standing at the end of his bed with his trench coat half off his shoulders. His tie was pulled all but completely undone and his buttons were split open straight down to his navel. His shirt was untucked and his belt was in one of his hands and he looked--

Well he looked like what he looked like as he dropped the belt on the floor and kicked off his shoes and crawled up the bed like a porn star and not an angel. “Dean,” he said very seriously.

“What the hell have you been do--” Dean’s question was completely and entirely relevant but Cas’ hand sliding up the inside of his thigh into the leg of his boxers was entirely more relevant. His hands were warm and his breath was warm and he was laying across him all skin and sex and it was hard to think when he was getting hard all over again. “Whoa,” he mumbled under his breath.

Sam was snoring three foot that-a-way and Cas was right on top of him pressing kisses against his jaw. Dean closed his eyes and searched for some place of inner peace that didn’t want or need to have sex so he could get enough brain cells to stop this whole thing and then Cas tightened his grip and licked his throat, teeth catching on sensitive skin before he started sucking and Dean arched up against him with a groan and forgot all about stopping.

He worked his hands inside of Cas’ wrinkled, rumpled, already pulled open clothes and found his skin--ribs and waist and back and slid down into the back of his pants to get two handfuls of his ass and pulled him up. Cas slid forward on his knees, spread his thighs across Dean’s hips and licked across the hickey he’d been sucking into his skin.

“Dean,” Cas said all rough and tight against his ear.

“Cas,” he said back.

“I would appreciate it if you would sodomize me now,” Cas said.

Dean groaned but not in the good his-hand-is-working-miracles-on-my-dick way. The groan was more like I-can’t-believe-he-said-that way that used to ruin all of their attempts to have sex and he dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Dude,” he said, “what did I tell you about that?”

“Sodomize, while being the correct term, is not a sexy a word and you would prefer if were to never use it again?” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said (sincerely, of course) and then, “Dean, I would appreciate it if you would fuck me now.” A pause as he stilled his hand and watched Dean’s face very closely for a reaction. “Is that better?”

“Yeah, that’s much better.” He turned them over, pushed Cas back into the mattress and kissed him. He tasted like whiskey and mouth wash. Cas was almost always agreeable but he was very rarely ever demanding with his legs spread open and both of his hands tearing at Dean’s boxers in a way that was hot and should have been worrisome. Dean pulled Cas’ pants down and threw them over his shoulder and stared at him. “Where’s your underwear?”

“I...must have left them,” Cas said.

Really, technically, Dean had no right to be upset. He really didn’t and he knew that he didn’t and that didn’t matter a damn bit because _Cas_ had left his _underwear_ somewhere. There was a difference between going out and having a one-night stand with some woman you weren’t ever going to see again and showing up with your shirt unbuttoned and your underwear missing acting like if you didn’t have sex you’d die. “Where?” he asked.

“In Illinois.”

Of course he left them in Illinois. Dean was all set to be furious--outraged--full-on wrathful but then Cas sat up with his knees all bent and grabbed him around the waist with both hands to drag him down again, once he was close enough Cas wrapped his legs around him. He kissed Cas and listened to him moan and pushed his arms down so they were flat on the bed and liked how that made Cas wiggle under him, all eager and hot for it. 

Dean ground down against him, held him down with one hand and slid the other down between his legs, all set to say something sexy and-- “Why the hell are you already lubed up? Did this happen in Illinois where you left your underwear?”

“Dean, please, I will explain everything but I need you to--”

“Dean?” Sam said from three feet that-a-way and lifted his head up off the bed, blinked blurrily and then yelped in surprise and flailed backward so hard he fell off the bed and hit his head on the wall. “Dean! Not cool!”

“You’re going to need explain right now,” Dean said.

“I believe my need is somewhat more significant than your need for an explanation,” Cas countered.

Sam was trying to get his feet on the floor instead of in the air and cursing about that while Dean tightened his fingers around Cas’ wrist like he had any chance of holding down an angel that didn’t want to be held down. 

“No,” he said, “its not.”

“I assure you it is. While John’s stamina was impressive, he was not as familiar with my body as you are and I did not achieve a satisfactory orgasm.”

Dean thought about that for a second. Sam finally managed to get his head up and his feet down and was leaning on the bed with a cocked up eyebrow and staring at him when Dean looked over toward him just so he didn’t jump to all the wrong conclusions (or the right ones, either way). “John?” Sam repeated.

“Yes,” Cas said.

“John who?” Dean demanded.

“John Winchester,” Cas said, “your father.”

Oh and that was just--that was--

\--

Sam was almost entirely sure that he heard that wrong. In fact, he was entirely certain that he heard that wrong. He _had_ to have heard that wrong. His entire grasp on sanity depended on his faulty hearing so when Dean cleared his throat and said: “what?”

And Cas said, “I don’t understand what you are asking.”

And Sam said: “The part where you just said that you had sex with our Dad is what he doesn’t understand.”

And Dean said: “Shut up Sam,” before he looked at Cas and nodded and said, “that part. Our Dad is dead.”

And then Cas said: “He was not dead in 1989.”

Sam knew that he was insane.

Dean sat back away from Cas so fast he fell off the end of the bed, hit his head on the floor, did a flip without meaning to and ended up flat on his back with his feet facing the wall and spent a dazed moment just laying there before he jumped up, fixed his boxers and stood there looking horrified. Sam stayed behind the bed which was just silly because the bed wasn’t going to protect him but then again if he didn’t move he could just pretend he wasn’t there.

“You had sex with my _dad_?” Dean shouted.

“Yes,” Cas said.

Then Dean started spitting and wiping his mouth on his arm and touched his neck where the hickey was and all but screamed and ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door. The water in the sink ran and something crashed to the floor and something else broke and Cas sat up on the bed and crossed his legs and waited.

“Cas,” Sam said reasonably, “why?”

“Dean explained to me about what happens when a man gets backed up. Clearly, John--”

“Backed up?” Sam repeated. Because Dean wouldn’t really tell an angel who believed just about anything they told him that men had to get off or die--he wouldn’t. He just could not possibly be that stupid or crude or that big of a dick.

“Yes,” Cas said, “I believe I am currently experiencing the phenomenon known as blue balls.” Then he peered down between his legs in the dim light and frowned. “Although, I am relieved to note that my balls are not blue.”

Dean yanked the bathroom door open again, still furiously brushing his teeth and pointed his other hand at Cas and shouted something that sounded a lot like _what the hell were you thinking_ but came out as nothing but foamy nothing.

“You asshole,” Sam said from where he was hiding behind the bed, “you told Cas that if you didn’t get off you’d die? How could you do that?”

Dean looked offended.

Cas cocked his head to one side, “John also implied that it was not true and that whoever had told me it was true was a dick.” Then he looked at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes, “it was true at the time.” Then he turned and went back into the bathroom and spit, rinsed his brush and his mouth and came out again, “that doesn’t explain why you went back in time to fuck my Dad and--man--not cool.”

“I was attempting to better your childhood,” Cas said.

Oh yeah. This was so far past crazy.

\--

They were going to have this conversation like civilized people: at a table. So Cas snapped his fingers and fixed his clothes and sat with a disgruntled kind of calm on one side of the table while Dean and Sam sat on the opposite side. 

“How, exactly, does having sex with our father somehow fix our childhood?” Dean asked, “because I’m just not following.”

Cas looked at the two of them like they were just simple, stupid little children. “It doesn’t seem to have worked as planned.”

“You think?” Dean demanded, “And then you came back here and--and--and--”

“Dean,” Sam said with a reassuring hand on his arm, “you didn’t know.”

“He was all wet and he tasted funny and that was Dad, Sam!” It wasn’t like he was going to cry or freak out or freak out and cry. Just that he felt one small step removed from hysterical at the moment because all he could think was that he’d had his fingers where his Dad’s dick had probably been and-- “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed.

“Dean,” Cas said because he clearly did not find the situation to be as insane as it was, “you were the one that insisted our relationship remain open. If you are allowed to have sex with as many loose women as you can I do not understand why I am not allowed to have sex with one man without receiving this kind of reaction.”

“It was my _father_!” Dean shouted.

“You had sex with my sister,” Cas said.

“So sleep with Sam!” Dean shouted and then thought about it because Sam punched him.

“Don’t sleep with Sam,” Sam said.

“I had no intention of sleeping with you,” Cas informed him.

Dean looked at Sam and Sam was giving him that wrinkly-forehead look like he didn’t understand why he was getting glared at. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, “get your own angel.”

“Dude,” Sam said, “you’re the one--”

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean repeated and then looked at Cas and for a minute he had serious sex-related thoughts about Cas. Because he loved having sex with Cas. Sex with Cas was always good and lengthy and mind-blowing and--then he thought of his Dad. “I’m going to puke,” he said again.

“I believe you are over-reacting.”

“Yeah, well how would you feel if I slept with your father?” Dean demanded.

Cas blinked. 

“Dude,” Sam whispered to the side, “his father is God.”

“So?” The point was still entirely valid and when he looked back at where Cas had been he found that he was gone. “Great! This is just great, maybe he went back to 1989 to get his underwear.” 

“You’re such a dick,” Sam said.

\--

Dean most definitely wasn’t worried because Dean never worried and if Sam asked him if he was worrying or implied that he was worrying or happened to wonder out loud where Cas was and if he were alright and even slightly tip-toed anywhere near the idea that Dean should apologize for being a dick Dean all but bit his head off. So Sam waited until Dean was a little less than sober and they were in public before he tried broaching the subject of how all of this--up to and including Cas having sex with their father--was really Dean’s fault.

“This is all your fault,” Sam said, “you should just suck it up and call Cas and apologize.”

“This is not my fault,” Dean said, “I’m not the one that went off and had sex with our Dad...” He grimaced at the words and then took another drink like it was going to wash the thought out of his head. “Besides, he’ll be fine after he finishes pouting.”

“Yeah, well, he might be but I’m sick of looking at your face and dealing with your attitude so you need to figure out how to fix this. And what were you thinking telling Cas that if you didn’t get off--”

Dean cut him off with: “it was _true_ at the time! We were looking for Jesse and all those things you tell people were--”

“Dean,” Sam said, “he was eight years old. The only things that happened were things that he believed--why the hell would he believe you could die if you didn’t have sex? You are so full of shit.”

To his credit Dean nodded at him and then waved it away like it didn’t matter, “its still his fault.”

Of course it was. Sam sat back in his chair and shook his head. When the waitress passed them buy he ordered another round of shots and set them all in front of Dean. If his brother knew he was trying to get him drunk he didn’t acknowledge it, just smiled and drank everything on the table with that cocky self-assurance that he could out drink anyone (even himself). 

“He’s an angel,” Dean was saying as he dragged him out of the bar, “why would he go behind my back and have sex with someone else? Angels don’t do that--they’re--he was a virgin before me, you know. I’ve taught him everything he knows! And this is the thanks I get?”

Dean was still listing the ways he’d been wronged when Sam dropped him on the hotel bed and fished his phone out of his pocket. He called Cas and gave him the address and before he even clicked the phone shut Cas was standing there.

“You two,” Sam said, “work this out. I’m going to--go...somewhere...else while you do.”

\--

It was really, amazingly difficult to remember why he was angry at Cas when Cas was close enough to smell and touch. He was warm and solid and Dean could lay across him with his nose buried in the collar of his shirt and smell him. (He liked the way Cas smelled.) He could touch his hair and his face and his throat as he swallowed.

“Dean,” Cas said.

He could hear him and taste him when he swiped his tongue across his own lips because they felt too dry. Cas tasted really nice, he always had. He could feel him shifting on the bed under him, how he was trying to get closer and farther away all at once and Dean could get a leg between his and sigh against his jaw.

“Dean, you are inebriated,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and you’re really pretty.” He pushed his elbow against the bed and looked down at Cas, pushed his fingers through his hair so it was standing up and looking messy and perfect and Cas was blushing faintly at being stared at. “If I could get it up, I’d fuck you right now.”

“If it weren’t somewhat morally objectionable I would fuck you right now,” Cas said.

\--

Sam came back the next morning and found the motel room destroyed. The table was broken, the sink was running, the bed was in two pieces, the alarm clock was in a dozen and the sheets were all ripped to shreds. Cas was looking remarkably perky as he straightened his jacket and looked at him with something approaching a smile. “Hello Sam.”

“Hi, Cas. Is--Dean--still alive?” There was something splattered on the wall that looked almost like grape jelly and he didn’t even want to know what it actually was. He just stepped over the mess and started gathering up all his stuff out of the closet because they were going to have to get the hell out of her as fast as they could.

“Yes,” Cas said.

Dean was, in fact, singing happily as he came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and his chest and back covered in hand and mouth shaped bruises. “Sammy,” he said happily and stepped over the bits and pieces of their motel room. He picked his jeans up and shook them off and then tossed them over his shoulder. “I’m starving.”

Cas looked pleased with himself and cleared his throat before saying, “I should go.”

“I’ll call you,” Dean said, “hey and remember what we talked about.”

“Of course,” Cas said. Then he disappeared.

“What did you talk about?” Sam asked--not necessarily because he wanted to know but more because he thought it would be relevant to know in case it somehow led to Cas going back in time and having sex with members of his family.

“Nothing,” Dean said. 

Like Sam was really going to believe that.

\--

Almost four months later, at the worst possible time, Cas showed up at Bobby’s with a bag of lettuce in one hand and a can of whipped cream in the other. He was munching away on the lettuce and following each swallow with another shot of whipped cream.

“Cas?” Sam said--very cautiously.

“Yes?” Cas said.

“Why are you eating?” Dean asked, “you haven’t eaten anything since we took care of famine. And _what_ are you eating?”

Cas turned the can of whipped cream around to look at it and then looked at the bag of salad in his other hand and said, “whipped cream and ice berg salad with carrots. I don’t like the carrots.” He stepped forward and sank back into the chair in the middle of the devil’s trap like he was just exhausted and couldn’t stay on his feet any longer. 

“Cas, what’s going on?” Sam asked.

“I believe they are called cravings,” Cas said, “they are very strange.”

“Cravings?” Dean repeated. “What kind of cravings?”

“Pregnancy cravings,” Cas said. He tipped the can of whipped cream and squirted it directly into the salad then held the bag closed with his fist and used his other hand to squish it around until the lettuce was completely covered and seemed delighted at his ingenuity before he started stuffing that disgusting shit into his mouth.

“I’m going to be sick,” Dean said.

“Did he say pregnancy cravings?” Bobby asked.

“Yes,” Cas said, “I am pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Sam shouted.

Dean wasn’t sure what Sam was shouting about when he wasn’t even having sex with Cas but he seemed to be taking this like some kind of personal insult and Dean couldn’t even really think beyond _oh that’s fucking gross_ as he watched Cas suck the lettuce and whipped cream off his fingers.

“Yes,” Cas said calmly.

Then it was silent for a minute. Then Sam said--like he was just holding all of his flailing and shouting in-- “Whose the father?”

“The paternity--am I allowed to say paternity?” Cas asked him. 

Because about four months ago Dean explained how Cas was never-ever allowed to use the word ‘father’ or any word with the same or similar meaning around him ever again. As long as they never talked about or thought about how Cas went back and time and had sex with his Dad they would be just fine. It had been working out alright for four months and now all of a sudden it was all back.

“The paternity is still undetermined,” Cas said after he didn’t get an answer. “It is a Winchester child, that I know.”

“What’s that mean?” Bobby asked, “he doesn’t know who the father is but its a Winchester?” He was looking back and forth between Sam like he was fully willing to kick their asses and Dean wanted to tell him not to ask but Cas answered first.

“I had sex with John approximately five months ago,” Cas said, “this could, theoretically, be his child.”

For a minute, Bobby didn’t move or breath or blink and Sam tensed up because he was smart enough to know that this was going to end badly and Dean took half a step to the side just so he was more or less out of easy range should Bobby decided to shoot first and ask questions afterward.

“What?” is what Bobby shouted and then pulled his little flask of holy water out and wheeled close enough to spray it in Cas’ face. 

“John did that as well,” Cas said, “several times. I am not a demon.”

Bobby considered this and then turn around to glare at them. Sam was hiding behind a chair trying to act like he wasn’t hiding behind a chair. Dean was behind a desk and not bothering to hide the fact that he was hiding behind the desk. “You two knew about this?”

“Hey, we didn’t know he was pregnant!” Dean said.

And it was just about then that it really started to sink in.

“But you’re a man,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, “Jimmy was upset as well about that as well. I assured him that I could spend the majority of the pregnancy in his daughter’s body and he seemed to believe that would not be advisable as she was too young.” Cas paused because Bobby sprayed him in the face again. “He was very adamantly against it,” he finished.

Oh good. Great. 

“Why?” Bobby asked, “Why did you have sex with John? John’s dead.”

“He was not dead in 1989,” Cas explained, “and I was attempting to improve Dean and Sam’s childhood.”

\--

Sam got left with the pregnant angel while Bobby took Dean into an adjacent room to shout at him about telling bullshit things to impressionable angel-types. There was no reason to go behind closed doors to have the argument when they could hear the two of them clearly through the doors. 

“Bobby seems very upset,” Cas said. He offered Sam a bite of the whipped-cream-salad and seemed happy when his offer was turned down and there was more of it for him to eat. 

“Well, Dean was a dickhead for telling you that men would die if they didn’t get off,” Sam said, “that’s all lies.”

Cas nodded, “while it is not technically the truth, many men are significantly happier when they have regular access to sex. Both your brother and father’s mood improve rapidly after--”

“Cas, too much information. And you only had sex with Dad once.” Not that he wanted to think about it but it needed to be pointed out. “So this kid is probably Dean’s right? I mean statistically it’s more likely--what?”

“What is a shotgun wedding?” Cas asked.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Bobby just threatened Dean and he was making references to a shotgun wedding. I do not understand the reference.”

Sam shoved himself up out of the chair and went over to pull the doors open, “Bobby!” Because there was an apocalypse going on and their attention really needed to be focused on finding and killing Lucifer more than bothering with making his brother get married to the angel that he knocked up. Sure enough, Bobby had a shotgun and Dean had his hands up and was all but on his tiptoes like he was trying to talk his way out of something he didn’t stand a chance in hell at avoiding.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean said, “guess you’re going to be my best man.”

\--

“Why do I have to wear white?” Cas asked him, “what is wrong with what I am wearing now?”

Dean handed him another slice of watermelon and ignored how Cas was dipping it in honey-mustard because not thinking about what kind of food Cas was eating made this whole thing somewhat more bearable. He sliced off another piece and dropped it on the plate. “Brides wear white,” he said, “its tradition.”

“Is the shotgun traditional?” Cas asked.

“Uh, no--well--yeah but no.” Sometimes, a lot actually, his life reached a level of absurdity that left him wondering if he wasn’t secretly in a mental hospital somewhere shitting himself and sucking his thumb and this was all some great big elaborate mind-fuck of a dream brought on by heavy anti-psychotic meds. Some days that seemed like the preferable reality.

“I want olives,” Cas said suddenly and then he was just _gone_ and the chair he’d been sitting in rattled slightly now that it was empty. 

\--

“What are you going to name the baby?” Sam asked. It wasn’t really the time to be talking about it because they were in some basement-type maze thing with a limited amount of rock-salt bullets and an unlimited amount of problems. There were two ghosts and a whole lot of demons that wanted to kill them before they managed to get out.

“You’re asking me that now?” Dean demanded, “really Sam? Now?”

“Well,” Sam said, “yeah. Have you at least thought about it? Because you can’t ignore the baby forever, Dean.”

“I swear to God, Sammy, if you don’t shut up I will waste my last shot in your ass and it won’t kill you but it’ll hurt like hell,” Dean said. 

\--

Cas burst into tears when he came back with a scratch down the side of his face.

Cas. Burst. Into. Tears. 

Not a single tear, not a few tears, not a little friendly concern, not an offer to make it better--no, he burst into full-on hysterical sobs and spent thirty minutes demanding to know what the hell he would do if Dean were to get himself killed and how his baby wouldn’t have a father if Dean died. “Did you think before you confronted the demon!” Cas screamed at him and in Bobby’s panic room the noise echoed over and over again until it was as deafening as Cas’ true voice. “Did you!”

He couldn’t answer because they weren’t really questions Cas was screaming at him, just accusations. He thought about hugging him or telling him it was ok but every time he got close, Cas hit him and sent him flying back against the wall--which was hurting him a hell of a lot more than that scratch on his face. So he stayed near the door and let the pregnant angel scream at him until glass started shattering on the desk and the room was getting hot and very bright.

“Cas!” he shouted over the echoing roar of sobs and screams, “I love you!”

He didn’t think it’d work so when everything dropped and was silent and Cas was looking at him like he was _sane_ again--he cracked a grin of relief. “I love you as well, Dean,” Cas said. Then he crossed the room and hugged him so tightly it felt like his ribs were breaking. “I am pleased you have chosen to forgive me for having your father’s child.”

Oh, that was just _not cool_. “What?” Dean asked.

“While it is more statistically likely that this child should have been yours, we confirmed earlier today that it is in fact--”

“Oh man!” Dean shouted and would have run for it except that he was being crushed by a happy angel bear hug. “Cas, why did you tell me that?”

\--

Sam found Dean drinking in the kitchen and sat down across the table from him. “So,” he said, “Cas told you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “but hey, not like its the first time I raised my baby brother, right?”

“Well, there’s a chance that we’re wrong and spirits were just dicking with us,” Sam said, “I mean--they seem to like doing that, you know.” He shrugged when Dean glared at him and the took another shot with a cough and a rough swallow. “Maybe we should call Chuck--you think he would know for sure?”

In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea.

\--

Chuck wasn’t answering his phone. Chuck wasn’t answering his e-mail. Becky wasn’t answering anything up to and including her various chat programs. 

That was ok, because Dean knew where he lived and he had a really fast car. Sam came with him only because he blamed himself for putting the idea in Dean’s head in the first place. It was probably a good idea that he came because Dean pounded on Chuck’s door, got tired of waiting, kicked it in, pulled his gun and hunted the bastard down.

He found Chuck hiding under his desk with a sheepish little smile at him, saying: “Hi Dean. Look, I know you’re--don’t hurt me.” He was babbling something or another as Dean shoved him back into his desk chair and pointed the gun at him. Whatever he was babbling sounded like Greek to him (or Enochian or Latin, really--any language but his language) and Sam was on his back trying to drag him away from the innocent writer who had been detail their lives for them for the past God-knows-how-long. 

“Who’s the father of Cas’ baby?” Dean demanded with the gun barrel pressed against Chuck’s forehead.

“You are!” Chuck shouted. Then waited and then said, “is that what you wanted to hear?” He offered a smile and then looked at Sam for help and Dean considered shooting the bastard in the face and dealing with the troublesome detail of a vengeful archangel that would kill him for doing any such thing afterward. “Hi Sam,” Chuck whispered.

“Chuck,” Sam said.

\--

So they sat around the table and drank. Chuck always had something worth drinking and he liked to share (especially when it saved his life). Dean was just about plastered, one hand still on his gun, telling nonsense stories about things that they all already knew about since they’d either lived it or read the book (or wrote the book). Chuck laughed when he thought he was supposed to and nodded when he thought he should have.

“I can’t be a father,” Dean said.

“Sure you can,” Chuck said, “you helped raise Sam he turned out--mostly--alright.”

That was completely reassuring.

“There was that kid in The Kids Are Alright--you were really good with him,” Chuck said, “in fact, you’re usually really good with kids, Dean. I always thought you’d have kids someday.”

“Great,” Dean hiccuped into his shot glass, “you could have told me that. I would have actually worried about getting the angel knocked up instead of figuring he probably didn’t have STDs I needed to worry about. Thanks for that buddy.” Then he stole the bottle and started chugging.

“Well, he’s taking it really well, right?” Chuck asked.

Sam nodded, “he hasn’t shot you yet, that’s good.”

\--

Gabriel would not stop laughing.

Cas didn’t seem to notice, mind or care about how he was being laughed at. Either that or he figured that Gabriel was busting a gut about something other than the fact that Cas was pregnant like an elephant and eating marshmallow fluff off graham crackers like a crack addict. Dean wasn’t actually close enough to hear what they were chatting about because Cas was _upset_ with him for threatening Chuck and he wasn’t allowed within forty-seven feet of Cas.

“Asshole,” he mumbled sideways to the wall that didn’t seem very impressed about his opinion of Gabriel.

Gabriel stayed for hours and laughed for hours and ate candy with Cas until they both should have been puking and then he stood up and patted Cas on the back and said something that was too quiet to hear but sounded vaguely sincere before he walked out of the room, and over to him.

“So,” he said with a grin, “does this mean I get to knock up your brother?”

Somethings just weren’t funny. This? This wasn’t funny.

“Sure,” he said, “why not knock up my Dad too?”

“Tempting,” Gabriel said, “but I’m not into time-travel--too much work.” Then he looked up the stairs and grinned in a way that wasn’t at all reassuring.

“I wasn’t serious,” Dean started but it was too late because Gabriel was already gone in a poof of fluttery angel wings or whatever the hell he went poof with. “STAY AWAY FROM SAM! DAMN IT!” He ran up the stairs and found Sam sitting at his laptop giving him a strange stair.

“Who are you talking to?” Sam asked.

“Don’t have sex with anyone,” Dean said, “he could be _anyone_.”

Sam blinked, “ok, Dean. You need sleep. And a shower, but mostly sleep.”

\--

Dean got married in a cramped and awkward ceremony in what was left of the justice of the peace’s office by a demon that was possessing the justice of the peace that they had trapped in a devil’s trap. Bobby had a shotgun, Sam was waiting for the I do’s and the kiss-the-bride so he could start in with the exorcism and Dean had a gun pointed at the poor put-upon demon who kept interrupting himself to threaten them.

So it was:

“Do you Dean Winchester--I’m going to gut you and drink your spleen and Lucifer is going to possess your--” and then Dean would shoot the demon somewhere that wouldn’t kill the body that he was possessing and that was kind of overkill when they could just splash him with holy water. Or they could have splashed him with holy water if Cas would stop drinking the holy water because it was good for the baby. “Take Castiel--the filthy--stop shooting me! Don’t you care about the meat I’m wearing?”

“No,” Dean said, “not really. I should, but I don’t.”

Cas frowned at that and spit a mouthful of holy water on Dean, seemed to surprised when he didn’t yelp in pain and then shrugged and went back to sipping the water instead of using it to threaten the demon. 

“Take Castiel to be your lawfully wedded...husband?” the demon asked.

“I do,” Dean said. “Hurry up, we have to go kill your friends out there.”

“I’ll try,” the demon said, “do you Castiel take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband? Was that quick enough for you?”

Dean shot him again, right above the knee and the demon screamed and Cas didn’t seem to notice or care about any of that or the demons that were on the other side of the line of salt they lined at the door. Cas just said, “I do.”

“Kiss the fucking bride, I pronounce you husband and douchebag,” the demon said.

So Dean kissed Cas and Sam started the exorcism, the demon seemed happy enough to get out and then Cas was grinning happily and pushed two fingers against Dean’s forehead, made him disappeared, waddled over to Bobby and did the same to him and then stopped in front of Sam. 

“Congratulations,” Sam said before he got punched through space back to Bobby’s house. Cas was already there once his vision cleared, already sitting down to the cheesecake feast he’d wanted for the ‘reception’ (Gabriel had explained all about weddings to Cas, apparently).

\--

Michael--the dickhead of an archangel--showed up at Bobby’s wearing his father right after Cas went into labor. Dean thought that just _fucking_ figured because Gabriel was already there making faces at Sam who was trying really hard not to pay attention to the way Gabriel was working over the sucker in his mouth. 

“No,” Dean said, “absolutely not. No. No! No!”

Michael looked at him as if he were insane, as if after everything that had happened ever since he may or may not have told a little white lie about how men would die if they didn’t get off to Cas who shouldn’t have been naive enough to really believe it and definitely shouldn’t have been insane enough to go back in time to fuck his father, there were any possible way that Dean was _not_ insane. “Dean,” Michael said while wearing his _father_ , “I am here to witness the birth of my brother’s child.”

“So what, just for today you promise you won’t try to crawl up my ass and use me?” Dean demanded.

“Yes,” Michael agreed, “just for today.” Then he moved closer to the door to the panic room and peered inside where Bobby was talking soothingly to Cas who was panting through his Lamaze breathing and muttering what could have been curse words in an array of languages that Dean couldn't understand. “He is not pleased with you,” Michael said, “I would take special care to protect your testicles.”

Oh good.

\--

Things were going well until Lucifer showed up with a teddy bear. He came down the stairs like he’d been invited and held out the teddy bear to Dean who stared at him with huge-round eyes and a murderous twitch of his jaw muscle. Lucifer looked confused, looked at the bear and then dusted it off like that was the problem and held it out again, “I’ve been led to believe that green is a gender neutral color. If you don’t like it I could send someone for a different one.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded.

“I wanted to see my nephew come into this world,” Lucifer said and then he looked over at where Sam was standing by the door of the panic room and smiled at him. “Hello Sam.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Sam said back.

Michael turned around and saw Lucifer and Dean looked like he was going to explode just waiting for the screaming and fighting to start but Michael just nodded his head. “The birth has not yet started,” Michael said, “Castiel is doing well at this time.”

Gabriel was snorting from where he’d pulled up a bar stool to sit next to Sam and had moved on from tonguing lollipops to blowing candy bars. “They could always play nice when they wanted to--try to get them to behave for a family picture or a decent Sunday breakfast? No, they couldn’t do that. But one little miracle baby is getting born and they’re best friends.”

“Miracle baby?” Sam repeated.

“How many men do you know that are having babies?” Gabriel asked him like it was _obvious_ and then he leered at him and grinned and Sam felt dirty just from that.

“I am not giving my kid a satan-bear,” Dean hissed and shoved the bear at him. He pushed past Lucifer and Michael to get into the panic room and as soon as he was within grabbing distance, Cas was trying to grind his bones to dust.

\--

Well. The baby was born in a burst of life that leveled most of the state outside of Bobby’s property, somehow sent both Michael and Lucifer _somewhere else_ but missed Gabriel who just sat on the bar stool the whole time deep-throating a popsicle. Bobby’s eyebrows were singed off but he could walk. Cas was passed out but he looked like he was all normal again. Sam was clutching his chest like he’d had a heart attack but he looked oddly younger than he had in a few months. Dean felt like he could run ninety miles without breaking a sweat and he was smiling at a pink-faced baby that was staring at him like demanding to know where his water-bed and all you could eat buffet had gone to. 

One of the shelves in the panic room fell over and Bobby jumped to one side and Sam shouted in shock. Cas blinked his eyes and sat straight up and he was wearing those same clothes that Jimmy had been wearing when he said yes instead of the clothes he’d started wearing for the past five months. 

Dean smiled at him, “I’m a Dad,” he said.

Cas smiled at him, “yes,” he said, “you are.”

And then the baby peed on him.

\--

“Play it again, Uncle Sam.”

“Oh God, do not play it again,” Dean said from across the room where he was cleaning his guns. He made a face like he was going to puke and started piecing the last gun back together because he knew that he was going to get ignored regardless of what he said. “That crap is going to rot your brain.”

“He’s just jealous,” Sam whispered into John’s crazy hair as the kid resettled in his lap and pointed at the screen of the laptop. “He doesn’t have his very own fan club.” John looked up at him and sucked on his juice box while he wiggled his toes in his footie-pajamas and then pointed a finger at the screen. “Ok, fine.” He pressed the button so the video would play again.

Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler were there, standing in front of a giant map of the U.S. wearing their usual Ghost Facer’s crap and doing a whole introduction spiel about how two and a half years ago half of a state had been leveled but there had been no loss of life and how everything had grown back bright green and beautiful. 

“Strange?” Ed said, “or supernatural?”

And their theme song started playing. John wiggled in his lap and leaned forward to push his elbows against the table and slurped at his juice box. Sam rolled his eyes and wondered how many times you could watch the same thing before you went clinically insane and figured he was just about there because he’d been dreaming of this stupid video for the past three days.

“Some people,” Harry accused on the screen, “think that what happened was a miracle but the Ghost Facers were determined to find out the truth!” 

Then they issued a disclaimer about the graphic nature of the program and they went through a series of confessional moments before the video came back into focus at Bobby’s front door and Harry was knocking on the door and narrating about how this was the only building that had been left standing. 

Dean answered the door in his Wonder Woman pajama pants with his hair plastered up on the one side of his head and a sippy cup in one hand. He squinted at the camera, at Harry and Ed and then gave them finger, told them to get the fuck out and slammed the door. 

“That was my Daddy,” John said, “he was sleepy because Mommy kept him up all night.” He twisted around so Sam could nod and agree with him.

The Ghost Facers had a short strategy meeting on the front porch and Maggie kept saying that they knew Dean because he was that guy that had been--and Ed and Harry kept telling her that it wasn’t and then they knocked on the door again and shouted about how they just wanted to ask a few questions.

Sam answered the door that time and was all diplomatic, explaining how now wasn’t a good time and they should come back later. But Ed and Harry kept arguing with him and Cas came up behind him with John hanging off his neck and looked at the Ghost Facers curiously.

“They’re here to find out what happened two and a half years ago,” Sam mumbled out of what corner of his mouth.

Cas nodded, “what are we telling them?”

“To fuck off,” Dean shouted from inside.

John--in the video--twisted around to look at them and said, “fuck off.”

Cas frowned and Dean laughed loud enough from somewhere back in the house that the cameras picked it up. “That is not polite,” Cas said, “your father will be repentant about using that language later. Tell them you are sorry.”

The Ghost Facer demanded questions and Sam tried to dissuade them and then Dean showed up with a shotgun and started threatening to shoot anyone that wasn’t off the property in the next ten minutes. He was gleeful enough that nobody but the Ghost Facers would have taken him seriously but they ran for their lives while they shouted questions back at him. Then they hid behind their car while Cas pulled the shotgun out of Dean’s hand and frowned at him.

In the video, John in his shorts and T-shirt came around the car and crouched with them, looked at them with Cas’ curious stare and said, “what’re we doing?” 

“Nothing, little kid--you should probably go back to your parents, this is grown up--” The only thing John couldn’t stand to hear was that something was meant for grown-ups only and he frowned like fury and reached out to grab two handfuls of Ed Zeddmore and yanked him and the whole crew straight off of Bobby’s land and dropped them in the worst possible place he could imagine--the middle of his doctor’s office.

“Oh my God!” Harry shouted.

“Oh my God!” Ed screamed.

“What just happened?” Maggie demanded.

“Cool,” the voice behind the camera whistled.

Cas was there in the next frame, crouching down to pick John up, “we spoke about this, John. You cannot use your powers around other Humans. You made one of them urinate on himself. That is not polite. You should apologize.”

John was too much like Dean to apologize for anything he did on purpose and he just turned his head and stuck his tongue out instead. Cas looked down at the camera and seemed to reconsider his stance on the particular problem at hand.

“You really,” he said, “should not have bothered my family.”

And then the screen went all white and fuzzy and the video ended. 

John finished his juice and shook the box and it refilled itself so he could drink it again. He sat back against Sam’s chest and tipped his head back and gave him a grin and said, “play it again?”

“No,” Dean said, “its bed time. No arguing and no zapping to Boca--you’re going to bed.”

“Good night,” Sam said. And John kissed his cheek and slid off his lap and managed to convince Dean to read him three stories and sing him two bed time songs before they even made it to the stairs. Cas would be back tomorrow and order would be restored to bed time (at last) and until then, it was watching the Ghost Facer’s video Sam took off their computers and listening to Dean sing Hey-Jude until he was hoarse and John was finally asleep. 

“See,” Gabriel said without making so much as a noise to announce his appearance, “don’t you want one of those? Two of them? Don’t tell me you don’t want a little rugrat.”

Sam sighed, closed the laptop and looked over at Gabriel, “for the last time, I do not want to have sex with you. Go away.”

Gabriel just grinned at him, “I’m wearing you down, I know it.” He waggled his eyebrows and snapped his fingers and disappeared.


End file.
